


Professor

by Fragged



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teacher-Student Relationship, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4755104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fragged/pseuds/Fragged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has wanted to do this since the moment he first laid eyes on professor Rush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Professor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GameofTywinning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GameofTywinning/gifts).



His heart skips a beat when he sees professor Rush walk in. He'd known, of course, that Rush would come. That was the whole reason he'd insisted on coming here, despite the fact that David had really wanted to go to a club tonight. 

Yeah, he'd known this is where Rush goes on his Friday nights. And he'd known Rush would sit at the bar, order a double whisky, and flip open his little notepad to start scribbling formulae and proofs into it the minute he sits down. 

David laughs, raucously, and punches him in the arm. Apparently Sharon, Camile's girlfriend, said something funny. Everett didn't catch it – too preoccupied with watching professor Rush – but he lets his lips curl up into a grin anyway, and chuckles along. 

It's a night to celebrate, because the semester is finally over. They order another round of beers, and talk and laugh, but Everett keeps glancing over at Rush. The man is completely immersed in his maths, not paying the least bit of attention to him or any of the other patrons. Everett thinks tonight is the night. He's no longer Rush's student, he can... he can do this. Rush might say yes, now that there's no student-teacher taboo between them anymore. 

Everett knows he has to take his chance tonight, or he never will. 

He keeps drinking until he finally feels ready to go over to Rush, and then excuses himself from the table and makes his (mostly steady) way over to the bar. The stool next to Rush is empty, and he slides into it and orders another beer, and another whisky for Rush. 

Rush looks up from his notebook, then, and gives him a long look. “Mr. Young,” he says, and Everett feels his skin prickle at the sound of that rough, drawling voice. 

“Hey,” he says, purposefully not adding the 'professor', because he needs Rush to understand that he's _not_ his teacher anymore. He wants to say something else, and he almost goes with 'Come here often?' He swallows it, though, just in time, because he's pretty sure Rush would've completely dismissed him if he had. 

“So, the semester is over,” he says instead. Rush cocks his eyebrow at him skeptically, and Everett's not entirely certain it's any better than his first choice. Still, he pushes forward. It's not like he has much to lose, is it? “You're not my professor anymore.” 

The bartender sets down their drinks in front of them, and Rush turns to him more fully, a wary frown on his face. “What is this?” 

“I get the impression,” Everett says, taking a deep pull of his beer and refusing to give up eye contact, “That you either hate me, or that you are attracted to me.” 

It's a bit of a gamble, because Rush hasn't given him much reason to come to that assumption at all. It's not like he ever made any inappropriate advances. It's not even like he ever really caught Rush checking him out. It's just... a feeling. Maybe it's just wishful thinking and projection on Everett's part, that's possible, too. 

Rush's mouth quirks up into something resembling amusement, and he picks up his drink. “Why do you think I hate you?” 

Everett shrugs, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I know I'm not a perfect academic...” he says. He knows he's not like David, with his almost intuitive grasp of the subject matter and his ridiculous memory. He's not even like Camile, with her impeccable preparation and her sharply inquisitive questions. 

“Hm,” Rush says, taking a sip of his whisky. “You worked hard, put in the effort. You may not be a natural mathematician, but why would I hate you for that?” 

Everett swallows and ducks his head forward. It isn't even much of a compliment, but still... it makes his cheeks feel warm with a flush of awkward joy. 

“Should I take that to mean that you're attracted to me, then?” he asks, instead of giving in to the urge to simply grab Rush's face and pull him closer. 

Rush snorts and shakes his head, before taking another swallow of his whisky. “You didn't consider that you may have presented me with a false dichotomy?” 

Everett hums quietly into his glass, before looking up at Rush again. The man's eyes are nearly black in the low light of the bar. “Did I?” 

It's Rush's turn to look away now. “I don't date students.” 

Everett feels something flutter in the back of his throat. Because Rush... Rush is basically saying that he _is_ attracted to him, isn't he? 

“I'm not your student anymore,” he says. 

“You're still a student.” 

“Is this an age thing?” Everett asks. “Because you know I'm twenty-six, right? I'm in the Air Force. Served a few years before going to grad school.” 

Rush gives him a look like he hadn't known that. His gaze roams over Everett's face, and there's a speculative cast to his eyes, like he's trying to determine whether he's lying. Then he shakes his head again. 

Rush is about to say something, probably to insist that he doesn't want this – even though Everett is becoming increasingly sure that he _does_ – and Everett cuts in before he can even open his mouth. 

“You're what, thirty-five? Thirty-six?” Rush inclines his head slightly. “If we'd never met before, would you have said no?” 

The look Rush gives him is complicated and barely readable, but Everett thinks it means he hasn't misinterpreted the situation. It makes something flutter wildly in the back of his throat. 

“I've wanted you from the first time I saw you,” he admits. It's true. He'd come into the classroom with his laptop and his books, and professor Rush's appearance had captured his attention even before he'd opened his mouth to say, “Right. My name is professor Nicholas Rush. I assume everyone has read the first two chapters of Dummit and Foote's 'Abstract Algebra', and therefore will have no trouble following today's lecture.” 

It hadn't just been his hauntingly dark eyes, or his oddly fitting fashion sense, or even his accent. It had been something... something more. Like everything about the man called out to him. Called out to be touched, to be rumpled, to be... to be worshiped, even. 

“I'll make you feel good. Promise.”

It feels really fucking scary, putting himself out there like that. Usually Everett doesn't have to do much. He's good-looking enough that people generally tend to come to him, and that's made his life easier, but it also means he hasn't exactly had much practice asking other people for what _he_ wants, either. 

“Jesus,” Rush breathes out, lowering his face and emptying his glass of whisky. “Are you always this straightforward?” 

Everett isn't sure whether to smile or not, so he just flags down the bartender and repeats his order. 

“...When it's something I really want,” he says quietly, throwing back the last dregs of his beer. 

Rush takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingertips. 

“Look,” Everett says, absentmindedly nodding at the barman when he places their new round of drinks in front of them. “I'm done with math, I've got all the credits I need. You'll never have to see me again, if you don't want to.” 

Rush shakes his head. “That's not...” He seems to be unsure of what he was going to say, and Everett waits quietly while Rush formulates his next sentence. “I generally don't do one-night-stands.” 

Everett feels his lips quirk up. Because either this means Rush wants to have sex with him this one time, despite the fact that he usually doesn't do casual sex, or – and this is what really makes his heart beat a frantic rhythm inside his chest – he wants more than just one night with him. 

“It wouldn't have to be a one time thing,” he says, feeling giddy and anxious as he lets his left hand slide away from his beer glass and on top of Rush's. “But it can be, if you want.”

He can tell the exact moment Rush gives in. It's a look in his eyes, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth, and he feels lightheaded and dizzy with _Oh my God, shit, yes, this is going to happen_ when Rush takes his scotch and throws it all back in one go. 

“Finish your drink,” he says with a hoarse voice, and Everett has no choice but to do as he says. 

When Rush leads him out of the bar, Everett doesn't miss the sly smirk Telford sends his way. Nor does he miss Sharon's small thumbs-up, or Camile's knowing smile. It all feels vaguely surreal, but then they're stepping outside, and the music from the bar is muffled and everything else sounds much too loud, and Rush's footsteps lead him away from the street, away from the raucous noises of people going out and drinking and having a good time. 

They walk for a couple of blocks until Rush stops in front of an apartment building. 

“Are you absolutely certain you want to go through with this?” he asks, and Everett almost laughs with how much he wants to just press Rush up against the door and kiss him until they're both moaning for more. 

“Yeah, I am,” he breathes, instead of giving in to the urge to sink to his knees and get his hands and mouth on Rush's cock right here, out in the open where everyone could see them. 

Rush turns around and unlocks the door, and then leads Everett up a flight of stairs before ushering him inside his apartment. It's... it's nice. It's not very big, but it's not small either. There are books _everywhere_ , and a few plants that look like they may have seen better days, but the thing that surprises Everett the most is the piano in the corner of the living room. 

“You play?” he asks, and Rush gives him a short look before turning away from the living room and into the kitchen. 

“Sometimes,” he answers. “Do you want a drink?” 

Everett takes the beer Rush offers him, and they drink in silence for a minute or two as the atmosphere steadily grows tenser. 

“Um. So, what do you want to do?” Everett asks, when his bottle is almost empty and they're still nowhere near the clothes-tearing abandon he'd imagined when he'd fantasized about this. 

Rush flicks his eyes over to him before taking another sip of his beer and then setting the bottle down on the counter. “This was your idea, Mr. Young. Why don't you tell me.” 

And shit, yeah, okay, if Rush wants him to make the first move, he can do that.

Heart-rate doubling, he plunks his beer down on the kitchen counter and steps forward until he's standing in between Rush's feet. He's never been this close to the man before, and God, he can already feel his cock reacting to the proximity and the knowledge that all of this is going to culminate in finally getting to kiss Rush, to touch him... to see what he looks like when he comes. 

Jesus. 

“Call me Everett,” he says quietly, before reaching up to touch his fingers against Rush's jaw. The short stubble there feels _right_ somehow, and he's operating mostly on auto-pilot when he lets his head tip forward to brush his lips against Rush's. 

“I want to suck your cock,” he whispers against Rush's mouth. 

Rush lets out a small sound that is so full of desire Everett feels his knees go weak, and then he surges forward, into a kiss that is hard and rough but also strangely careful. 

“Yeah,” Everett hears himself groan, in between Rush's slippery licks and biting nips. For a few minutes, he allows himself to get lost in the sensations, in the wet heat and the slick perfection that is Rush's mouth. 

“Not here,” Rush breathes, when he finally pulls himself back. “Bedroom.” 

Everett just nods and lets Rush drag him away from the kitchen counter by one of his belt loops. 

He barely has the wherewithal to take in the room before Rush pushes him down on the bed and starts working open his jacket. Rush is back on him, kissing him like his life depends on it, and Everett can do little more than groan into it as his hands skim underneath Rush's shirt to feel the warm skin of his back and shoulders. 

“Oh, God,” he groans, when Rush's hands work open his pants until he can take Everett's cock out of his boxers. Rush's grip is solid and hot, and he's pretty sure he doesn't imagine the gasped intake of Rush's breath. 

“Jesus, you're big,” Rush says, stroking his fingers over Everett's length a few times, and just that is nearly enough to make Everett come. 

“I want to see you,” he says, before grabbing Rush's arms and rolling him over so that he's on top. Immediately, he starts plucking at Rush's clothes, tearing off his button-up shirt (and maybe a few buttons scatter across the floor as he rips a little too roughly, but Rush doesn't seem to mind, so Everett doesn't slow down). “Fuck,” he pants, leaning forward to suck one of Rush's nipples into his mouth. The way Rush moans and curls his fingers into Everett's hair is goddamn _everything_ , and Everett barely realizes he's undoing Rush's belt and his jeans until he feels the hard flesh of Rush's erection against his fingers. 

“Oh, fuck,” Rush says, pushing his hips up into Everett's touch. “ _Yes_.” 

Everett isn't really sure what happens – maybe he's had a few more beers than was entirely advisable – but the next thing he knows he's bowed over Rush's hips, taking the base of his dick in his hand and fitting his mouth over the tip, and goddammit, he's been wanting this for so long – he's been fantasizing about this for _months_ – but nothing could have prepared him for the sounds Rush is making right now, as he sucks him deeper inside and bobs his head up and down with a quick, practiced fluidity. Nothing prepared him for the breathless, desperate little pleas falling from his lips, or the way he says “Everett. _Everett_ , oh my God.” 

“Do you want to fuck me?” Everett asks after pulling back from Rush's twitching cock, because Christ, right now he really wants to feel Rush on top of him, inside of him, and if they keep doing this there's a good chance they'll never make it there. At least not tonight. 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Rush says, his hips jerking up involuntarily. His eyes blink open, and he looks down at Everett, licks his lips, and says, “Yeah. Fuck, yeah, I do.” 

Everett lets Rush pull him up by his hair and moans happily as Rush kisses him deeply before shoving him over onto his back. 

“Gonna make this good for you,” Rush whispers, before climbing off of him to rummage through his bedside table. “Get undressed.” 

Everett feels slightly delirious, but he does what Rush says, kicking off his shoes and socks, working off his shirt, and wriggling out of his pants and boxers quickly. He barely has the clarity of mind to grab a pillow and shove it under his hips before Rush is back. Rush tosses a bottle of lube and a condom on the bed, and shrugs out of the few items of clothing still clinging to his frame. 

Everett feels strangely vulnerable when Rush climbs in between his legs, but then Rush's hands start roaming over his chest as he starts mouthing the skin on Everett's neck, and he decides to just take this as it comes. He can't quite keep his hands from stealing up into Rush's hair when the man works his way down his chest, his abdomen, kissing and licking and placing little bites wherever his teeth find something to grip onto. The hair between Everett's fingers is every bit as silky and fine as he allowed himself to imagine, and God, the hot, slick pressure on his skin is even better. By the time Rush finally reaches his cock he's dripping with how much he wants it. 

He hears the click of a cap and realizes Rush is spreading lube over his fingers, and with a little sound that makes him feel deliciously wanton he opens his legs a bit wider. Maybe it's been a while since he's done this. Okay, maybe he's only ever done it twice before. But Rush seems like the type to know what he's doing, and Jesus, Everett's pretty sure he wouldn't have assented to being fucked by a kid ten years his junior, not on the first night anyway – and Everett vows to make sure it will not stay just one night, singular, because he already knows just once isn't going to be nearly enough to satisfy him – so he lets himself babble a barrage of “Yes, yes, please, fuck, please do it,” until Rush's fingertips press against his entrance. Until Rush slides one of them deeper, inside, and Everett moans because _yes_ , this means it's actually happening, and Christ, he needs more already. 

Rush obliges him easily, letting the fingers of one hand trail maddeningly up and down the length of Everett's cock while his other hand stretches him, prepares him until he's got several fingers inside of his ass, rocking in and out with steady motions. 

“Are you alright?” Rush asks, and his voice sounds a little breathy. Everett has to muffle a groan against the back of his hand, because holy fuck, yes he is alright, he just really needs Rush to start fucking him right now. 

“Yeah, I'm ready, I'm ready,” he says, when he can finally speak without moaning every single word again. “Come on, I want you. Please, come on.” 

Rush leans forward, then, lets his tongue swirl around the glistening head of Everett's dick, laps up a rivulet of precome that has dripped down his shaft, and presses his fingers down hard against Everett's prostate. 

“Oh _fuck_!” Everett hears himself cry out, because all of it is almost too much, almost enough to send him over the edge, but then Rush's tongue is gone and his fingers are gone and Everett is left panting and unsatisfied until Rush is back. 

“Put your legs...” Rush says, grabbing Everett's knees and hoisting his thighs up so he can wrap them around Rush's hips. The blunt head of Rush's cock presses up against Everett's balls, and he feels dizzy with anticipation, because yes, fuck, Rush is really going to do it. 

Without another word Rush grabs his dick and lines it up, and then he starts pushing inside, slowly, gently. Everett can't help the little sounds that keep working their way out of his throat, but _Jesus fucking Christ_ , he does not remember the other two times feeling like this. 

“Rush,” he moans, pretty sure he's right on the edge of coming, and God, is that normal? He doesn't think that's normal, but fuck, Rush is _inside_ of him, and he's wanted this for so long, and... “Professor Rush, oh my God.” 

Rush grunts out a low noise and slips in a bit faster than is entirely comfortable – all it does is make Everett groan with how fucking amazing it is – and then he's in. His cock is all the way inside of him, and Everett realizes he's sweating. A drop of perspiration runs from his bellybutton to his chest, where it comes to a stop on his solar plexus, in between the ridges of muscle. When Everett looks down lower he can see his own cock, hard and red and slick with desire, his legs open and inviting, and Rush's hips flush against him, and Jesus it's almost too much, to see it like this, so he squeezes his eyes closed against the visual. 

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Rush starts to move. Back out, until only the tip of his dick is still inside, and then back in again, easing the way, letting him get used to it, and Everett can't help it, he looks again. 

“Jesus,” he says. All his breath whooshes out of him at the sight of Rush fucking him, and a hard tremor works its way up his spine when he looks up to find Rush staring down at him. “I'm good, I'm good,” he blurts out, preempting Rush's question. He draws his legs tighter around Rush's hips and pulls him forward roughly, into him. They groan simultaneously, and Everett feels another dribble of precome run down his cock. Fuck, this is really working for him. 

“Come on, do it,” he pants, rolling his hips against Rush. Rush sets up a real pace now, sliding into him smoothly, easily, hitting his prostate just often enough and just hard enough that Everett wonders if he's going to come untouched, if that is something he's finally going to experience with his math professor. There is an odd sort of hilarity to that thought, although he can't quite wrap his mind around the _why_ of that. 

“Jesus,” Rush groans, and only now does Everett realize he's gotten closer to him. He can feel Rush's breath on his face, and he brings his hands up to card them through Rush's hair. The man looks beautiful like this, cheeks flushed and eyes so dark there's no distinction between pupil and iris anymore. 

He feels strangely apprehensive all of a sudden, as he slowly pulls Rush's face down to kiss him again. For some reason he's scared Rush will push him away, and his hands tremble a little bit against the hot skin of Rush's cheeks. 

Rush doesn't push him away, though. Rush kisses him, sweet and slick, and then deeper and more heated as the rhythm of his thrusts grows faster and rougher and less controlled. Rush's abdomen rubs against Everett's cock with every movement of his hips now, and even just that small amount of friction is enough to make the pleasure pool and coil and twist around itself in his belly. He knows he's not going to make it for much longer, he's not going to hold on, and Rush is making these gorgeous, desperate little sounds into his mouth but he doesn't stop kissing him, and _Jesus_ it's too much, it's too much... 

Everett comes – his cry muffled against Rush's lips and tongue as his cock spurts hot come between their stomachs – and everything falls to the background but the warm gush of release that spreads through his abdomen, his chest, _everywhere_. Rush keeps fucking into him, pace growing ever more harried, and Everett can't hold back the little moans of pleasure every time Rush hits his prostate. God, everything feels so sensitive. 

Rush kisses him sloppily, on the corner of his mouth, dragging his lips over the skin of Everett's cheek, and moans. He's close, he must be, and Everett wonders if he should... 

“Yeah,” he breathes into Rush's ear, throwing caution to the wind. He doesn't even have to force his voice to sound shaky and rough, it's pretty much wrecked. “Yeah, come on, professor.” 

Rush makes a sound, surprised and desperate, and then his cock thrusts into Everett deeply and his muscles spasm, and Everett feels a hard surge of pride wash over him as Rush comes, shaking and moaning and rolling his hips into him. 

“Jesus Christ,” Rush pants, letting himself sag against Everett's body and burying his face in his shoulder. 

Everett laughs a little, and lets his hands roam over the expanse of Rush's back. The man is actually smaller than he is. Not as tall and not as broad. But he feels oddly indestructible, regardless. 

They will untangle themselves soon. They will clean each other up and then they will fall asleep. 

And if later that night, Everett will wake Rush up with a blowjob, or if later that week Rush will let Everett fuck him, that's something both of them are entirely alright with.


End file.
